


Blood and Fear and Pizza

by xElementFivex



Category: Death Note, Death Note & Related Fandoms
Genre: Blood, Canon Related, Friendship, Gay, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mild Gore, Mild Language, Reunions, Yaoi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-22
Updated: 2015-09-22
Packaged: 2018-04-22 22:01:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4852067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xElementFivex/pseuds/xElementFivex
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Matt had been expecting pizza. But then again, when did Mello ever give him anything he was expecting?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blood and Fear and Pizza

**Author's Note:**

> My first transfer over from FF.net! I'm excited to check out AO3. Hope you guys like this little one-shot. I had fun writing it way back when. Takes place after Mello blows up the hideout.

Matt had been expecting pizza.

Of course he had come to realize that life rarely, if ever, gave you what you were expecting and more often seemed in delight in delivering the exact opposite. He had, for example, not been expecting the car crash that had left him orphaned and at the mercy of Wammy's House. But it was what it was and nothing he could do would have changed it. Besides, those years of learning and testing and constant competition were behind him now. And even though he tried most days to forget, there were still times when the memories came creeping up to the back door of his mind, pounding on the door and demanding to make themselves known.

And so, in his short eighteen years, Matt had learned to expect the unexpected.

Pizza, however, had always been pretty reliable. It was for that reason that Matt, normally unshaken by extraordinary circumstances, stood gaping at his front door, jaw slightly slack, tip money crumpled in one fist, with a look of shock on his face.

"Well?" The voice was gruff and scratchy, like its owner had been chewing sandpaper. And it was most definitely not the delivery man- unless burnt and bloody was the new uniform standard. "You gonna invite me in or am I just gonna have to stand here 'til you manage to pick your jaw up off the floor?"

Matt's shock slowly evaporated and his lips pursed as he crossed his arms and cocked one hip, still blocking the doorway. He gave the figure before him an inscrutable stare, taking in the blonde hair, black clothing and bad attitude he had once been so familiar with. Of course, Matt's rational mind noted, he looked quite different now.

"What happened?" he asked. Straight-to-the-point, just like Matt preferred it.

"Does it matter?" the blonde growled, a hint of pain beginning to creep into his voice. "Are you going to help me or not?"

Matt chewed on the inside of his cheek thoughtfully. Was he going to help? Part of him wanted to, but another part- a  _stronger_ part- was still so angry at Mello for leaving Wammy's without even a word. He searched his mind hard, and couldn't come up with an immediate reason to help. They had been... now he guessed that friends was too strong a word, but acquaintance not nearly strong enough. He sighed and decided there was no good word for what they were- no, what they had been, for now they were nothing to each other. Mello had seen to that. 

"Look." The voice sounded ragged at the edges, understandably so. "Stop fucking around. You have to help me."  
  


"Why?"

There was a quick movement and a sharp click, and suddenly Matt found himself staring down the business end of a Colt .9mm. He sighed. "Fine. Come in, Mello."

The blonde, Mello, limped unevenly over the threshold, clicking on the safety and pocketing the gun as he slammed the front door shut. The two boys stared at each other for a long moment; one cold and rationalizing and trying his best to be detached, the other breathing heavily and looking as though he might soon pass out. 

"Jesus fucking Christ!" Mello suddenly exploded. Matt knew it had been coming. Mello had never quite outgrown his temper- or his extrensive vocabulary of curse words. Matt was willing to bet the last year hadn't improved his patience either. "Help me, damnit!"

"What do you expect me to do?" It was a genuine question. "I'm not a doctor. Why didn't you go to a damn hospital?"

"I'm kind of a wanted man now, Matt." In the midst of everything, Mello still managed to sound incredibly annoyed. His face- what was left of it- was pale, and Matt watched as a bead of sweat trailed down, gathering dust and blood as it went. "And you took all those medical classes at Wammy's. I couldn't think of anyone else to turn to. Don't make me beg, Matt."

"That was all theory and safety! I'm not qualified for something like this!"

"Do  _something_." Mello staggered, catching himself at the last minute. This last bit of desperation seemed to be enough to finally snap Matt into action mode. He reached out to steady Mello, making sure to grab the arm on his good side. Making a quick decision to put aside his anger and do what he could, he steered the unsteady boy towards the bathroom, doing his best to ignore the stink of charred skin and hair. 

He flipped the light on and deposited his burden on the lip of the bathtub. Mello promptly slid to the floor, his head hanging between his knees. In the stark flourescent light of the bathroom, he looked much worse. Matt had to work hard to shove the panicked part of his brain to the back and let the analytical part of his mind dominate.

He had avoided  _really_ looking at Mello until now. It wasn't that he shyed away from gore; he had no issues with blood. It was that he couldn't quite reconcile the Mello in front of him with the one he had known back at Wammy's. That Mello had been vibrant, cocky and self-assured. Full of anger, yes, but full of ambition too. The anger was still there of course, glinting in the corner of his eyes-  _eye_ \- like lightning. But this Mello looked run-down and tired and decidedly worse for the wear. 

Matt studied him, fighting a sudden lurch of his stomach. The right side of his face was normal, but dirty. Ash and dirt and blood has settled in a fine grit on the skin, giving it a sickly gray cast. But the left side was where the real story was told; the reason he had come to Matt's door seeking help when they hadn't even spoken a word in more than a year. The skin was mottled; dark, charred patches with red, oozing valley between them where the skin had peeled off and exposed the delicate tissue beneath. Angry blisters covered what skin was left and extended down his neck to disappear until the tattered material of his shirt. His eye- if he still had one- was crusted shut with dried blood and his lips were chapped and cracked. His eyebrow was gone on that side, burnt off, along with a good two inches of hair, leaving him with an uneven, singed hairline. His chest heaving and his breath was coming in pained gasps. 

Matt felt a brief moment of panic. What was he supposed to do? He wasn't a doctor! He went over a quick litany of medical knowledge in his head. Ice for a sprain, elevate the injury, don't let a person with a concussion sleep, starve a fever, feed a cold... or was it feed a fever, starve a cold? Mello gave a grunt of pain and seemed to slump even lower on the cracked linoleum. 

Matt swallowed hard and took a deep breath. Clean the wound. That was a good place to start, right? He could do that. Although this was a much bigger deal than some little cut. For a second he felt angry. He wished Mello had gone somewhere-  _anywhere_ \- else. Matt just wasn't cut out for this action stuff. Truthfully, had hadn't really missed all the drama that seemed to inevitably follow Mello wherever he went. 

"Clean the wound," he muttered to himself. He turned to his sink- no soap. He cursed his own laziness for a minute. He couldn't even remember the last time he had bought any. So much for being prepared. Just water would have to do. Matt scrambled for a clean towel, knocking his razor and toothbrush to the floor in processor. They clattered across the floor as he ran the cloth under a steam of cold water. 

Mello let out another grunt as Matt knelt in front of him, holding the dripping cloth hesitantly in front of Mello's burned face. Matt took another deep breath to steady himself and lightly pressed the material to the ruined skin. Mello hissed as the rough fibers snagged against his burned flesh. 

"I'm sorry," Matt said absentmindedly as he tried to clean the worst of the grime off. It was hard to tell what was dirt and what was skin. He wasn't really sorry per se; he knew he was helping to the best of his ability, but it still seemed like the most appropriate sentiment. Mello made a high, keening sound and clenched his teeth hard as the corner of the cloth caught the edge of a blackened patch of skin. Matt tugged lightly and the skin peeled off, exposing the angry red surface underneath. Matt fought sudden nausea. This was not something he had ever in his wildest dreams imagined himself doing. 

He managed to rid Mello's face of as much of the ash and dirt as he could, trying hard to ignore the boy's sounds of pain. He also managed to clean the clot of blood from Mello's eye and was relieved to see that it was intact. His neck and side were easier to deal with; they had been slightly more protected from whatever had happened. And now that Matt had fallen into an easy rhythm- wipe, rinse, repeat- he could think clearly again, without that annoying twinge of panic clouding his thoughts. He felt his more rational, detached self slide into place like a car changing gears.

"How did this happen?" he asked as he concentrated on pulling at some of the shirt fabric that had stuck itself to Mello's side. 

"None of your business." The answer was forced between rattling breaths. 

"Kind of is," Matt replied. "You showed up at  _my_ apartment, busted in on  _my_ life- which was going just fine without you, by the way- pointed a gun at  _me,_ and demanded  _my_ help. So yeah, I think it might be  _my_ business."

Mello let out a harsh laugh, which turned into a hacking couch. He spat a mixture blood and saliva before answering. "I blew up a building."

 

"You what?" Mello hissed again as Matt swiped roughly at his sensitive skin in his surprise. "Shit, sorry!" he apologized. "You blew up a building?"

Mello grunted an affirmative. 

"Why did- no, I don't wanna know now. I don't wanna be any more involved than I already am."

Something like a floodgate opened deep within Matt and he found himself saying more than he had planned. "I didn't ask you to waltz back into my life, you know. I mean, a fucking phone call first or something would have been nice, but no. You don't have any fucking courtesy, never have. Left without a fucking word. I mean, I know it's not like we were best friends but you could have left a note or something..." He trailed off, unsure of what else to say. But he did, he noted with some satisfaction, feel some of the  anger he had been dragging around with him for the past year dissipate. 

"Sorry," Mello muttered.

Matt blinked, taken aback. "Did you just apologize to me?"

"Yeah, and you only get one, so get over it."

Matt started to give a sarcastic reply, but changed his mind at the last second. An apology from Mello was so rare; he really didn't want to ruin it. "Ok. I think it's as clean as it's going to get for now. Wish I had some soap," he said wistfully. He tossed the washcloth into the trashcan; he'd never get all the blood out anyway. "I think I have some antibacterial spray around here somewhere."

He searched the meager contents of the medicine cabinet. By some stroke of luck, he had been right. He grabbed the small bottle along with another clean cloth. 

"Here." He tossed the cloth at Mello, who raised an eyebrow and then winced at the pain the expression caused. Matt suspected he was in some form of shock; he couldn't imagine being that burned and still conscious and not screaming. "Bite on it," Matt explained. "This is going to hurt.  _Bad._ " Mello nodded and stuffed the cloth into his mouth.

"Ready," he mumbled around the bundle.

As quickly as he could, Matt sprayed the medication liberally over the burned areas. It felt like he was putting a band aid on a bullet wound. Everything he was doing was woefully inadequate for dealing with this kind of injury. A strangled cry escaped Mello's throat as the liquid trickled into the open wounds. He bit down hard on the rag, fists clenching, legs twitching.

"Done." Matt flung the bottle aside and reached hesitantly towards the blonde. "Are you-"

Mello's nostrils flared and he spit out the cloth. "Fine," he spat out. "Help me up." Matt reached out to clasp Mello's good hand and pulled him up. Immediately the blonde staggered, but Matt caught and steadied him. "Help me to the door."

"What?" Matt pushed up under his good arm, taking more of Mello's weight onto his own shoulders. "You're kidding right? You can barely walk. What are you going to go do?  
  


"I have things that need to be taken care of," Mello panted.

"You can't take care of them if you're dead!" Matt wasn't quite sure why he cared so much. In fact, he had spent most of the last year very carefully  _not_ caring about Mello. "At least stay here for a day. Lay down on the couch. I'll go get someone, a real doctor,  _something._ You'll die if you don't take care of yourself.

"I'll manage." Mello lurched forward unevenly, almost dragging a surprised Matt with him. 

"Stop!" Matt grabbed at him, but Mello tore out of his grasp with a strength that surprised him. 

"No."

Matt made a quick decision. He hoped to God he wouldn't come to regret it. "Damnit. Damnit, damnit, damnit," he muttered to himself as he dashed to the bedroom and pulled a battered blue backpack from the closet. 

"What are you doing," Mello questioned. 

"I'm going with you," Matt answered gruffly, stuffing clothes haphazardly into his bag while he spoke. He tossed in his DS and wallet, followed by his computer. "Shut up," he said, silencing Mello's protest before it even started. "This time, you  _need_ me. I'm going to make sure you don't end up killing yourself. First stop, a  _real_ doctor. We'll come up with some sort of lie on the way there." He snatched up his car keys. "I"m driving," he decided. "You can barely stand."

Mello seemed to be having some sort of internal debate with himself. "No," he finally decided.

"Yes."

"You're going to hate it."

"I'm okay with that."

"It's going to be dangerous."

"Who doesn't like a little risk?"

"Really dangerous."

"A lot of risk, then."

Mello drew a deep, stuttering breath. "Fine."

"Good." Matt slipped his shoulder back under Mello's guiding him to the door. He eased it open. Mello hissed as the cold air stung his face. 

"Aren't you going to lock your door?" he asked Matt as they descended the stairs of the apartment complex towards the darkened parking lot.

Matt sighed and steeled himself mentally. He took one last glance at the place that had been his home for the last year. "Really dangerous, you say? As in, blowing yourself to hell kind of dangerous?"

"Yeah."

"I don't think I'll be coming back."

Mello didn't answer. Matt hadn't really expected him to. He didn't give himself a chance to think as they left. If he had, he might have wondered why it was that Mello, after all this time, still had that hold over, the ability to make him abandon his comfortable life for one that would most likely kill him.

A few minutes later, a delivery man in a bright orange cap sighed in annoyance, shifting the hot pizza box in his hands as he rapped again on the apartment door. It was clear no one was home. 

"I hate this fucking job."

 

 


End file.
